RED CROSS

About the middle of July I sent a corporal and two men over to Heliopolis with a letter to Lieutenant-Colonel Barrett, asking for some Red Cross goods.  I had already received issue vouchers for two lots, but these had been intercepted in transit, so the men were ordered to sit on the cases until they gave delivery to the Ambulance.  Fifty cases came, filled with pyjamas, socks, shirts, soap and all sorts of things.  The day they arrived was very, very hot, and our hospital was full of men whose uniform had not been off since they landed.  No time was lost in getting into the pyjamas, and the contented look on the men’s faces would have gratified the ladies who worked so hard for the Red Cross.  Talk about peace and contentment—­they simply lolled about in the scrub smoking cigarettes, and I don’t believe they would have changed places with a Federal Senator.

Those Red Cross goods saved one man’s life at least.  All the unopened cases were placed outside the tent.  One afternoon a shell came over into a case of jam, went through it, and then into another containing socks.  A man was lying under the shelter of this box, but the socks persuaded the shell to stay with them, and thus his life was saved.  It was on this day that my nephew, Staff-Sergeant Nickson, was wounded.  He had just left his dug-out to go to the dressing station on the beach when a shrapnel shell severely wounded him in the leg.  The same shell killed Staff-Sergeant Gordon, a solicitor from Adelaide, and one of the finest characters I knew.  He was shot through the spine and killed instantly.  Two other men were wounded.

Our Ambulance was ordered to pitch a hospital up Canterbury Gully to provide for a possible outbreak of cholera, as almost every writer on the subject stated that, when European troops occupied trenches that had been previously held by Turks, an outbreak of cholera invariably followed.  Major Clayton was detailed for the work, and soon had accommodation for a hundred men.  As there was no cholera, the sick men were kept here.  We had been so long in this place without a change, and so many troops were crowded into such a small area, without a possibility of real rest, that the men began to get very stale.  Sickness was prevalent, and this hospital seemed to help them a great deal.  It was a picture to see them all lying in their pyjamas reading the Bulletin and Punch, and swapping lies.

The New Zealanders held a concert here one night.  Major Johnston, the O.C., filled the position of chairman, the chair being a cask.  One man with a cornet proved a good performer; several others sang, while some gave recitations.  We all sat round in various places in the gully, and joined in the choruses.  It was very enjoyable while it lasted; but, as darkness came on, rifle-fire began on the tops of the surrounding hills—­also, occasionally, shell fire.  This completely drowned the sound of the performers’ voices, and the concert had to be brought to a close; Abdul had counted us out.